


Take(s) Two

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bottom Hercules Hansen, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Mpreg, Tumblr: hansencesthalloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If at first you don’t succeed, Herc and Chuck try again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take(s) Two

**Author's Note:**

> I AM GENUINELY SO EMBARRASSED. 
> 
> but halloween is supposed to be scary, so here is a kink that has always been a squick for me. happy halloween :DDD

Fiend goes down off of the coast of Acapulco, Mexico on October 31st, 2024.

Making this their ninth kill.

Surrounded by Striker’s techs as they unscrew them from their drive suits, Herc avoids looking to Chuck when they are standing at two ends of the same room. He knows the kid is staring, _glaring_ because when has he learned to be subtle. Herc can feel the full weight of that gaze all while getting out of his circuitry suit and into his civvies, already calling for a debrief with the Sydney Marshall even before his arms can shrug into that worn Lucky Seven vest.

Chuck doesn’t go after him.

Herc is fucking grateful.

He cannot avoid him forever but this is a good start. Chuck didn’t get that just from anyone, Herc too can drag his feet for as long as circumstances allow. And right now, he is quite determined to avoid his son until the next Kaiju alarm sounds.

Because he cannot say why.

Why, that of all the drifts for this to come out, it has to be this one. Why, that of all the drift partners he’s had, it is this one. That it is this drift and this co-pilot and this particular piece of information to slip out of his head and into the open drift space like a confession to be made.

He can tell you how though when this is something he can’t seem to stop thinking about. Or, so the drift tells him. Tells _them_ , like a murmur of some of his worst demons. Words and images in a loop, words and images in a distortion. 

He avoids him for as long as he can.

Herc makes it a couple hours before he is standing in front of their quarters’ doors again. The metal looking more intimidating than it has any right being given how long he’s called this home.

He almost knocks.

Before he catches himself. 

 

Chuck debates to himself, for far longer than his ego will allow him to admit, whether to chase after Herc at all.

He is not his surroundings. He is not his upbringing. He is not his father but he _is_ his father’s son. And the world still wonders how Chuck Hansen is anything but. Just made worse with time spent, apart and together, and now twisted so far gone.

He still finds a slight triumph in knowing that Herc is nowhere as good at keeping secrets in the drift as he believes himself to be.

Even the best Jaeger jockey slips up.

The door to their quarters open. Herc walks in. And Chuck is inclined not to have his old man running off again.

“You could have said something.”

“I’m not talking about this, Chuck.”

Herc’s face is beginning to show pink. Chuck doubts he is faring any better. But he pushes, just as he always would.

“Wouldn’t have to if you’d just stuck around.” He rolls his eyes, shifting off of his bunk to stretch, stating it so simply like he isn’t saying the things that he is, proposing what they both know he is. “I would’ve already been fucking you into the mattress instead of waiting for you to get back from avoiding me like you did.”

There is no redemption to be found here.

Not that either one of them has ever looked for something like that in what’s a very scant distance still standing between them.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wasn’t planning to, Dad.” The relief that hits him probably has more to do with Herc. The desire though, Chuck has no idea if that is his to start with or something that Herc has been very good about hiding. “Already saw it nice and clear in the drift.”

He comes at him like this is the first time Herc is relenting all over again.

He comes at him like he’s never had a chance to start. 

 

Composure feels like a foreign thing.

But he doesn’t dare to give another thing a second thought. Because this is all a very bad idea made worse when Herc knows exactly who is stripping him down. He feels like he should be more surprised at how familiar this all feels, how he comes to expect the bitten edges of Chuck’s blunt nails to drag across his skin as he reaches for the hems of his shirt and the waistband of his pants.

Chuck never does quite kiss him until all he has under his hands is the expanse of skin, made to lay out for him like this is his for the taking (even when this is the kid doing all the giving). It is not just a little amount of shame that makes Herc flush and burn until the red looks like it isn’t about to stop spreading against every inch of skin exposed and made on display.

Embarrassment is only a cornerstone of what Herc is feeling because he wants this. _Fuck_ , does he want this. And how fucked up is that.

“How long have you thought about this, hmm?”

The answer is _long enough_.

“Nothing but me in you. No rubber. No, nothing.”

But Chuck already knows this. This is why he continues, mouth busy with making this infinitely worse for Herc than it has to be.

“My cum dripping out of you when I’m all done.”

The kid’s a brat at the best of times. All the rest, he’s a hot shot Jaeger pilot with the looks to match. Even with the embarrassment and the shame and the guilt that is consuming on the nights he allows himself to think at all, Herc is panting for it now. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, and that is, perhaps, not at all the word he should be using.

“Look how wet you are.”

Chuck brings his hand up between them, lets him see how his fingers are dripping with his pre-cum. The way his mouth turns hungry at the sight has Herc trying to look away but Chuck keeps him from turning his head when he catches him by the chin.

Because he isn’t quite done. He has hardly started.

“And I’m not even in you yet, _Dad_.”

Chuck keeps him steady where he imagines he is already falling apart. 

Because he might not have a kink for dirty talk but fuck, that’s still his son saying all these downright filthy things. And for him, Herc very much has a kink for.

 

He has his father lying spread out beneath him, for once, looking like he wants this more than Chuck. And that is quite the feat to beat, Chuck Hansen wants this a lot.

He wants _him_ a lot.

Chuck is only sure he is doing right by him with the noises Herc makes for him. Sounding so sweet with his groans still caught inside his throat, coming out all choked and wet. His mouth opened wide like he is on that tipping edge of begging for something he shouldn’t even be asking for, let alone wishing and wanting to this degree.

Chuck is not stopping for anything short of a Kaiju alarm.

Because there is the impending apocalypse, that isn’t going away. The UN is already due to taking his Jaeger from him by the end of the year. Chuck is not about to give anything more, he is keeping this one all for himself.

He kisses up his chest, leaves a trail of lovebites with his teeth and tongue to blossom overnight. His hands span across where Herc’s hips dip into the start of a trail of ginger hair.

“Come on, on your knees.”

“You’re demanding.” The grumble is a lot less than the usual gripping he gets when they are on the bed without even the sheets between them. Chuck just insists on making everything harder than it has to.

He revels in it.

“I’m not the one who wants to go at this raw.”

The way Herc pauses, hand already untangling from their bed sheets to halt Chuck from leaving another bruise against his throat really brings plenty into perspective for him. 

(For Hercules, nothing else comes close. Charlie comes first for him, he always does. That is what it means to be a father, and even at its best, the drift doesn’t show half of what Herc is willing to do for his son.)

“You don’t want this?”

Herc is not quite sitting completely up, but he has his eyes trained on Chuck and despite the flush and how entirely naked they both are, he is looking like he is fractions of seconds away from calling all this off.

It has taken Chuck drifts after drifts, kills after kills, and enough killer drift hangovers to have his dad giving in to this. He isn’t about to let him go if this is something they both want.

Chuck hates words almost as much as his old man, but.

He is willing to give a lot more just to keep him here with him.

“Not what I meant, dad.”

He hopes this is enough to convince him otherwise when he motions with his hands once more, gets Herc to turn for him. There is another second where Herc finds himself thinking, once again, having second thoughts that maybe this isn’t something Chuck wants either.

He shows him otherwise.

Chuck has his dad with his arms and legs under him before Chuck is already closing his hands around his hips, eager to tug him up and back so his cock head fits hot and hard against his hole. He doesn’t give him pause.

Chuck can feel the sharp intake of breath from Herc, he feels him hot and wet and stretched. Chuck can’t help but bite back a smile.

“I am going to fill you up.” Chuck kisses him on the back of his neck, marks him just under the nape before he is slowly pushing inside, just the tip then filling him full and deep, inch by inch. Hearing that keen, feeling the give of Herc around him.

The words are much, much harder to get out now with how tempted he is to move, and leave him wrecked and sated with only his name in his mouth as a mindless mantra. 

“Going to make you mine, dad, inside and out.”

Herc doesn’t go so far as to admit that he’s been Chuck’s for a long, long time now.

 

The risk is there.

And maybe it is exactly that. The risk that makes him wants this more than he should. Finds this hotter than it really is when he feels the sensation of him coming inside of him.

He keeps it to himself, that little notation made in his medical files as an indicator, buries it in the deepest recesses of his head as just another simple fact of his life. It was never something he needed to share with Angela, and with every male partner since, he has always been careful.

But that too has been a long time now.

He never does give Chuck another reason to go digging around the drift. Because what else could be worse than finding out your father has a slight kink for barebacking? Even though _slight_ doesn’t quite cover it when all he wants to tell him is that it’s good, it’s so good. 

But all the words are a jumble in his head with Chuck’s hand trailing up and down the inside of his parted thighs. He is already a mess, slippery and wet with lube, filthy with his own release. All the articulations are tumbling around in his mouth, pass the gasps and the groans that remain the only things to make it off of his tongue when Chuck’s fingers are working in and out of him again.

It is always going to be on the side of too much with every opened kiss feeling like a lifeline.

And he holds on to that.

He harbours enough guilt over Chuck’s childhood to last another lifetime, this is not a complication he ever sees coming. The two of them have never been good at much outside of swinging their fists around, hoping to hit something hard enough to knock it out. If at first you don’t succeed, you try again.

Herc doesn’t think that’s indicating to what is happening though.

Only, the bright little plus sign on the end is not the first indication.

The blood work he’s got back from medical since Mutavore already tells him everything he needs to know. Not that it has quite sink in like it should, like now with the results in his hands, news as big as something like this.

He feels a little sick.

Standing in their temporary quarters in the Hong Kong ‘dome, he isn’t in denial. But what he is, he is much too old for this. He shoves the stick back into its box and tosses it in another empty drawer neither one of them has bothered to open since they’ve been here.

Herc still doesn’t tell Chuck though.

 

It is the break in Herc’s collarbones that starts that single tumble of thoughts.

They are not even in a live drift. They do not need to be. But in the silence inside of Striker’s hull, Chuck knows he is missing something painfully crucial. It is an echo that hollows him out through the entire flight back to the ‘dome, Striker trailing behind with that same empty coldness, her visor dark, the rain still falling while the debris settles where Gipsy landed.

They are herded straight for medical, that much is not new.

Watching dad bite through the pain on pure stubbornness alone instead of taking the usual cocktail of drugs medical has at the ready though, that is new.

Once they are cleared, left alone in the sterile room, Chuck narrows his eyes until the silence becomes suffocating. As bad as Herc is with talking about anything at all, he has to know that Chuck has an inkling that he is hiding something from him.

That much is obvious.

“I’m–”

Herc doesn’t finish his sentence.

(Second chance or not, Herc can’t find the words for it.)

Chuck lets his dad lead the way, stomping through halls after halls and back within their quarters, silent the whole way, going to one of the drawers neither one of them have opened, let alone use.

Chuck is missing a pretty fucking big chunk of a puzzle he hasn’t even realized he is staring at. He waits for Herc to turn around, show him what he cannot tell him in words. Chuck could have imagined a great deal of things but this is not any of it.

That little blue plus sign is–

“You were never planning to tell me.”

Herc looks like he’d rather be handed an armful of paperwork.

“No. I–”

“I think I have a right to know.”

Chuck also thinks he might not be comprehending the situation completely. The surprise doesn’t quite hit him like it should, doesn’t quite set in because his dad is pregnant with _his_ child, and the first thought that comes across his mind is not any of those things.

Instead, Chuck finds himself thinking that neither one of them might be ready for something like this.

But _fuck_ , does he want to be.

“This is a fucking nightmare.”

At this point, Chuck isn’t entire sure which part of this his dad is referring to.

 

A broken collarbone doesn’t stop a Ranger from getting inside a Conn-Pod.

Broken bones can be set. Pain can be suppressed by localized anaesthesia. Drive suits, after all, are tight enough to act as a temporary splint. His arm has been fucked up enough times, his shoulder alone has sustained much worse.

Herc refuses to believe that this is how it has to end.

But that is not for him to say.

“You’re not doing this, dad.”

Herc _hates_ that he cannot do a damn thing. His left hand lands over his abdomen even though it is all muscles and no swell, nothing indicative as to what feels pretty fucking life changing. It is instinctive, and Herc can almost flinch when there is already a whole lot of guilt he has to answer for.

He just never imagines it to be this.

He never imagines it to involve another life being brought into this.

“No one has to know.” He tells Chuck, but that isn’t quite true, medical knows. If his attending physician hasn’t already reported it to Stacks, then the doctor is just giving him that courtesy of coming clean himself. Confidentiality has very little meaning in a world about to end. 

He is an unfit candidate, that much is clear.

“ _I_ know, so don’t you fucking dare.”

Chuck’s hand lands over his, and there is just enough discomfort in that to bring them both back to the reality of the situation.

Charles Hansen is not about to let his father into a Conn-Pod.

“I have to get suited up.”

Herc swallows that lump in his throat, and nods.

He wonders if this is how it feels with everything coming undone. All those years of trying to keep the kid safe. He wonders if doing this is the right choice at all when he lets him go without another word.

He doesn’t tell him this. He doesn’t tell a damn soul.

Herc isn’t about to be ready to go at this alone, again.

 

When he tells the world he quite likes his life, he is not condemning himself to death. When he takes the shot, the Marshal glancing to him with finality from his right, he is making a promise that he doesn’t quite know how to word.

Only, it takes him a little longer to get back.

Only, it takes him a while longer to come back to himself.

Chuck comes to, more than a little drugged up still, his throat feeling like someone has had a blast dragging sandpaper against it. He blinks, and every minute movement he makes feel like it takes too much effort.

He thinks this is exactly what he came back to see.

“…Huh.”

Herc startles, directing his eyes from the stack of papers in his lap to him. Chuck wants to say he likes the addition of the reading glasses, he might also want to say a number of other embarrassing things. But what strikes him is this.

“I thought you’ll be bigger.”

Herc makes a face, like he doesn’t know if he wants to walk out of the room or laugh. And isn’t that a nice thought, Chuck thinks, his old man laughing instead of taking on another weight atop his shoulders.

“It’s barely been two months, kid.”

He passes him a straw for him to sip his water, the two of them watching the other intently. Neither one of them wants to be the first to address all the things that are no longer the same but Chuck doesn’t want to be spit back from hell to come back to the same damn thing.

“I want to give it a shot.”

There is a good thing here. 

This _could_ be a good thing, he thinks. 

“Chuck, a kid isn’t something you can just try on.” 

He can also understand his father’s fears. The old man thinks he’s done so much wrong, has it twisted in his head that he hardly needs a proven track record to know that he will do badly this time too. Chuck can read into how tight his father has his hands laced over his lap, just below that slight swell. His knuckles fractions from turning bone white.

Herc is fucking terrified. 

And Chuck is too. 

This is the life he never imagines himself to have. This might be that purpose in a world without the Kaiju. And even without the drift, Herc has to know Chuck needs that in his life. He needs him still even if there is no room in this new world for drift compatibility.

“What I _meant_ , old man, I want to try again.”

That might also be the wrong way to have put that when he adds.

“Not that you could get more knocked up.”

Herc looks like he needs this conversation to end.

“Please don’t joke about that, Chuck.”

“You only have yourself to blame.” It might be the truth but Chuck is glad he is not about to be released from medical for a while. Otherwise, his dad is not about to let him get away with a comment like that. 

The old man’s right hook is still the meanest he’s ever encountered.

Pregnant or not, Chuck knows Herc can probably still have him on his knees in the Kwoon in ten minutes flat without breaking a sweat.

“I _know_.” The warning in his tone though, while not all unfounded, is still very much bravado. Herc hasn’t addressed _this_ in his head as anything other than a vague idea. A potential he is not about to give a shot at. “I’m not your obligation, Chuck.”

He smiles around the straw instead of drawing his dad to him like he wants to. He bites down so he doesn’t give away everything that he is feeling. This is not the second chance Chuck thought they would get for themselves, barely one Herc could fathom.

“Let me decide that for once, Herc.” 

It is still the one that they take.


End file.
